The five pairs of eyes again turned as he turned.

He stumbled at a crack in the floor, fell against the table with a clatter of his sword, and rolled noisily into his seat.

When he sat down a careful observer might have noticed that his pistol was now at full cock.
He had barely seated himself when the polite man, who had come first hot and short of breath into the room, crossed the floor and leaning over the table said with a smile and the gentlest voice, "I think, sir, you ought to know that we are all very poor men." "I, too," replied Wogan, "am an Irishman." The polite man leaned farther across the table; his voice became wheedling in its suavity.

"I think you ought to know that we are all very poor men." "The repetition of the remark," said Wogan, "argues certainly a poverty of ideas." "We wish to become less poor." "It is an aspiration which has pushed many men to creditable feats." "You can help us." "My prayers are at your disposal," said Wogan.
"By more than your prayers;" and he added in a tone of apology, "there are five of us." "Then I have a guinea apiece for you," and Wogan thrust the table a little away from him to search his pockets.

It also gave him more play.
"We do not want your money.